There may be snow this year, and icicles;
crunchy footsteps, misty breath and bubbles
in puddles under frost-frozen glass;
crystals may sparkle in winter-white grass.
Like when fresh-fallen snow blankets the ground,
pure Christmas love is quietly profound;
and, as with morning sun-gold blue-cold airs,
its perfect peacefulness is everywhere.
There will be warmth in strong hands of friendship
melting distrust and softening hardships,
kindling beacons for far-apart families,
burning injustice with words such as these.
Light will return to the shadow-cast earth;
rain-laden winds are forecasting birth;
new springs will grow through the ashes of pain
and women and men will walk tall again.